


Under Southern Stars

by Zhisanin



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: F/M, Pirates, Post-Canon, Sailing, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhisanin/pseuds/Zhisanin
Summary: There is life outside the Untheileneise Court, too.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	Under Southern Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy to farevenasdecidedtouse for beta :)

_ To Arbelan Drazharan, Ethuverazhid Zhasanai, greetings! _

_ Arbelan, _

_ this is but a short note because we are not patient enough to wait until you find time and opportunity to answer our latest letter in detail. Although the spring rains we complained about the last time are still falling and literally everything is covered in mud, we received an auspicious forecast from Holitho today: sailing season shall begin early this year, maybe even as early as two months. _

_ Now, you mentioned once that you have never been on a boat before, and we keep the habit of setting sail to officially open the season. Although truth to be told, the fishermen, understandably, never wait for any other signal than the parting of the clouds --- there were years when we could hardly find our way to the high seas among their vessels. All that said, we wonder if you could be persuaded to accompany us this year? The ship is quite small, and we have hand-picked the crew members ourselves: they can be trusted under every circumstance. We shall leave port early in the morning and spend one day and one night on the water. No politics, no state business, only the wind and the water. _

_ Your security is of course guaranteed. Say yes, and come at your convenience – the details can be worked out when we have a more specified sea-weather forecast. Say yes, and your every need shall be taken care of. Say yes, and have a merry time with a friend who long since wishes to meet you in person again. _

_ Awaiting your swift reply, _

_ Maru _

  
  
  


_ To Maru Sevraseched, Great Avar of Barizhan, greetings! _

_ Maru, _

_ this is a short note in reply to yours (longer letter halfway ready). We most sincerely thank you for the invitation, and yes, we would surely like to go to sea with you. We are sure it will be a unique first-time experience. (Though we suspect the organization will not be as simple as it seems, but we shall find a way.) _

_ Please, do tell us more in your next letter. How small is exactly a “small” Barizheise sailing ship? (We have a feeling that we shall find it gigantic!) How far onto the high seas do you usually sail? Is the air much cooler out there in the summertime? Ought we to be afraid of seasickness? We cannot swim at all – isn’t that a problem? _

_ We are full of questions; we feel we are going to burst with half excitement, half fear, and this is more than anything we have felt in a long, long time. _

_ With wishes for an early summer, _

_ Arbelan _

**********

“You raised your daughters well.”

The ship sways lazily on the noon-time sea, sails curtailed. They sit on the lookout deck, in comfortable, cushioned wooden armchairs under a sunshade made from sailcloth stretched on a frame like a giant, standing umbrella. A small, round table offers refreshments between them. Arbelan wears a light, eggshell-white dress made from cool linen and decorated only with lace of the same color; her hair is pinned up under a wide-brimmed red sunhat. The hat was part of Maru’s attire, complete with red trousers and a red shirt, but he put it on Arbelan’s head instead, to protect her from the sharp rays of the southern sun. His personal guards are resting, too. 

She cannot see the line that separates sparkling water from dazzling sky, but she does not feel lost.

Maru snorts at her statement. "No, not at first, not at all. We thought nothing of daughters. They did not truly matter unless as a political asset to wed well. But Chenelo taught us many things. She was such a sweet babe; we could not help loving her with all our soul. And we were truly heartbroken when we learned of her fate... and later, her death. She was not made for this world, and certainly not for the Corat' Dav Arhos... as Nadeian is not, either. We were hoping Chenelo would find a life better suited to her as Zhasan of the Untheileneise Court. Had we known aught about what sort of person Varenechibel was, we would not have given her away.” He pauses in thought; Arbelan waits patiently. “Or maybe we would have,” the Avar says finally. “At that time we did not know yet what pain it is to lose a child, to lose her twice over, first to suffering, then to death. Now we are wiser, but this does not help Chenelo."

“It does help Nadeian,” Arbelan offers, and the Avar smiles sadly.

“That is true, we suppose. Though mainly it is Maia who helps Nadeian, not the elvish court. We know it was much to ask of him to suffer Vizhenka and his guardsmen deposited there, but we think he understood our purpose.”

“He did. And he is happy to have his family at his side.”

“Chenelo would… she really… she never… ” He cannot finish; he is grasping for words that could contain his feelings but they are not there. Finally, Arbelan smiles at him.

“Yes. We know.” She extends a tentative hand and lightly puts it on Maru’s. The contrast between white and black is sharp yet somehow soothing. “And so does he.”

The Great Avar of Barizhan bows his head. “Thank you, Arbelan.”

**********

"Varenechibel was... not easy to live with."

Arbelan looks out to the water, her hands twisted together in her lap. The memories are so old they should have had lost their sting long ago, and usually she can keep her distance from them, but now she feels the same coldness in her heart, even under the scorching Barizheise sun, in the silence deepened by the dull, low noises of the ropes and sails and the gurgling of water around the hull. 

"He was not cruel. Not on purpose. Or at least not often. But he never saw us as a person. Only an asset, as you said yourself. An asset that finally proved itself worthless." She sighs and turns to the Avar. "We were still young when he sent us back to Cethoree, as if we were an object that he might put on a shelf when he had no more use for it, then forget it altogether. And he never formally released us from our ties."

Maru is silent for a moment.

"Would you have remarried, if he had?"

"No, we never could have." Arbelan's laugh is bitter as seawater on her tongue. "We were set aside for barrenness, after all... but that you must surely know."

"Yes, we do. But that was not what we asked." Though his voice is almost as low as the murmur of the sea, Arbelan looks at him as if he had shouted. "Have you lived all alone for... what, twenty years?"

Slowly, she smiles at him.

"Make that thirty, Maru," she says, not unkindly. "We are old. And yes. There was no one in Cethoree. No one would come, either. Even our family was quick to separate themselves from us, so that they might remain in the good graces of the Emperor, even though Varenechibel never once wasted a thought on us afterward. We missed so much of what we could have had because of their cowardice. We missed the childhood of Csethiro and her sisters. That still hurts whenever we look at them. But now we can look forward to see... other children born and growing."

"And so can we," Maru nods, and raises his glass of cooled grape juice; not exactly a toast, but something very similar. "We may be old but there is still a future before us."

"Yes. There is," agrees Arbelan, and the breeze picks up the words to twirl them around the sails.

**********

The other ship bears no sign Arbelan could recognize; her flag is red and gold, and when her captain navigates closer to them, a dragon is revealed on it in the slanted afternoon light. A glorious dragon.

Arbelan does not know what to feel. She knows of course that the Glorious Dragon is captained by Shaleän Sevraseched, or rather, Shaleän Khel-Avezher, since she took her wife’s name in wedlock – but father-daughter relations aside, she is still said to be a pirate, and her vessel is closing in on the Great Avar’s. This could mean all kinds of complications.

Then he hears Maru’s heavy steps on the deck. He stands behind her, looms over her, as a column Arbelan could lean to for support. She is tempted to do so.

“Ah, we see we are approached,” he muses, smiling. His low, rumbling voice reminds Arbelan to the thunder of a faraway storm. “Are they pirates, or sea robbers turned to brave defenders of the Barizheise ports and sailing routes? People tell so many different tales nowadays, who knows where the truth lies? And what shall we do now? Fight, flee or welcome them in hope of a favorable treatment?"

Arbelan laughs silently and cranes her neck to look up to Maru. “This is your ship. Are you ready to take the risk?”

“Aye. Aye, we are,” he says with the same playful smile. He steps forward, to the deck's railing; the fleeting touch of his big hand on Arbelan’s shoulder is light as the sea breeze. "Ahoy, captain!" he shouts; his voice carries easily to the other ship over the calm water.

"Ahoy!" comes the reply, and one of the black figures on the other deck waves her hand. "Ahoy, ill-fated seafarers! Will you surrender by your free will, or do we have to overtake your pathetic rowboat by force?"

Arbelan feels somewhat uncomfortable hearing this. So are the Avar’s guards. Maru, however, seems not the least concerned.

"Captain, you chose the wrong vessel!" The Glorious Dragon is so close to them by now that he doesn't even have to shout. "We have nothing valuable on board, except maybe some mainland dishes that you might feel worthy of taking in exchange for our lives and ship."

The ships line up as easily as if they were two friends on a walk. Shaleän, a tall and strongly built pure-blooded goblin woman with golden beads in her waist-length queue, golden rings in her ears and a dangerous-looking sword on her waist, puts her hands on her hips at this. She wears full trousers, a shirt and a short jacket, all deep red with golden embroidery. In her eyes, the same excited light gleams as in her father's, but she won't drop the act just yet.

"Only if you have cold mutton in mushroom jelly," she declares. "For that, we will spare your lives."

"What about the crew?" Maru begins the negotiations with a hardly concealed smile.

"Greenberry sorbet?" offers Shaleän.

"And the ship?"

"Sorcho, old as ourselves!"

"We are saved, then!" exclaims Maru. “But we have one more plea.”

“And what would that be?” Shaleän steps to the railing, too; they could touch each other if not for the constant rocking of the ships on the churning water between hulls.

“Two, actually,” amends the Avar. “One, please, come unarmed. Our guards are… excitable enough as it is. Two, do you have Gareian with you? Bring her instead.”

Gareian also wears gold rings and gold beads, but her clothes are deep blue with cerulean embroidery, and her smile is less wide than Shaleän’s. She seems a bit intimidated; she does not speak much, not as if she could, even if she wanted, with Shaleän at her side. They, however, look deeply happy to Arbelan.

The mutton is exceptionally tasty. Arbelan is not used to the salty, hot and complicated Barizheise spices but after a couple of bites she decides she likes them quite much. The cool and tart greenberry sorbet tastes wonderful after the meat, and the sorcho is like liquid silk on her tongue. They exchange stories of family and sea, but not a word of politics, as Maru promised. They drink and talk and joke the evening away, until Arbelan feels dizzy, drunk on joy – a stronger intoxicant than sorcho that was not unknown to her a long time ago. Now, she thinks, she might have the chance to taste more of it again.

**********

"You had her favorites ready. You knew she would come."

They stand at the railing of the deck; Arbelan rests her arms on it but Maru stands erect. They both watch the horizon where the Glorious Dragon sailed away on the winds of sunset.

"Let's say there was hope," he says slowly. "Shaleän is... unpredictable."

"She is, isn't she? Who knows where she could have gotten that from?" Arbelan laughs, and this draws an amused sound from the Avar, too. "Which port will she head to?"

"No ports for her tonight. The weather is clear; she will drift on the currents. As will we. It is easy to navigate back by the stars if we wanted to, for whatever reason."

Arbelan looks up to the sky – there are hundreds, thousands of stars there, many more visible than on the mainland.

"Are you telling me that anyone can find their way by these?" she asks incredulously, and Maru laughs again.

"Look, over there," he points to the northern pole star, the shiniest one. "You surely do recognize that."

"She is Cstheio Cairezhasan, isn't she?"

"Yes, though in Barizheise she has a different name."

"What it is?"

Maru tells her; Arbelan tries to repeat, but she only manages to twist her tongue on it. It takes six attempts for her to manage a somewhat acceptable pronunciation, and the Great Avar laughs at her mangled half-words as if tickled. Then he shows her another star and tells her name, in encouragement for Arbelan to try again.

She tries. The sorcho she took doesn't help. The Avar teases her, then laughs with her -- it's childish but for once neither of them cares for their dignity. Finally, after Arbelan claims that her throat is sore "from that wicked language of yours," Maru turns to the sky again and indeed shows her the constellations that help seamen find their homeports.

Arbelan leans back onto the railing and enjoys the Avar’s warm voice and the cool breeze on her laughter-flushed face. And when his arm slowly encircles her waist, her smile is similar to the faint light of the stars above the night sea.


End file.
